


Keeper

by owl127



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke the tall and gorgeous keeper, F/F, Lexa the confident forward, Soccer AU, soccer gayness, this is fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl127/pseuds/owl127
Summary: Watch our girls play soccer and fall in love while I come up with all fun ways to describe this amazing sport.
Relationships: Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 23
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

Covered in silver and maroon, the Mountain Wolves stadium vibrated under the late autumn chill. The cold, insisting rain did not put a damper on the bursting waves of red tones in the bleachers. Flags, signs and supportive yelling continued unbothered by the weather, sending a necessary heat to the field as both teams had a deserved ten-minute break before the penalties shootout.

Cold wind played with the hairs that escaped Lexa’s braids. Her painted face had been smudged what felt like a lifetime ago, dark marks running down her high cheekbones the only remnant. Mud trailed on Lexa’s last name in her crimson shirt and stained her shoulders and shorts while vivid green met each of her teammate's nervous gaze. 

They had managed an almost perfect campaign and had always played with their hearts, and it was what the captain insisted on telling her squad as they faced, in their home stadium, a penalty shootout for the national championship. Against the wind and the cold, Lexa breathed hope, energy and determination to her coworkers, her team, her family. 

She caught a flash of sparkling blue from the Comets’ huddled formation but blinked it away as rain blurred her vision. 

The persistent crowd cheered when the referee announced the beginning of the end. An entire season defined by ten shots.

Lexa was close to another title to crown her growing career.

Between her hands and the trophy, a talented keeper. 

After a muddy ninety-minute battle, the Ark Comets and the Mountain Wolves tied on one on one for the dreaded penalty shootout. Not that Lexa didn’t try to finish the game earlier. Twice, she had the ball of the game. 

Once, at seventy-two minutes, a hard-earned assist left her face to face with the Comets’ keeper. Elected the best number ten in the season, Lexa’s mind was already celebrating the goal when her left leg shot a killer ball at the right corner.

Then Griffin grew twice as her already impressive six feet and blocked Lexa’s shot with a speed that left the Wolves’ captain speechless. 

She set her jaw and stared at the tall blonde, earning a wink as Griffin high fived her defense mate. 

Lexa shook with outrage and focused her burning anger on the game. Griffin winked at her again when she promptly caught the following corner ball, the play dying safely in the Comets’ keeper’s hands.

Lexa wanted to wipe that smug smile away. 

At eighty-one minutes, after a corner ball, Lexa got a rebound and aimed higher this time, since Griffin and the defender had hit the ground to protect the previous attempt at the Comets’ goal. 

It infuriated Lexa how Griffin knelt, simply _knelt_ and raised from the ground as a burning yellow sun, the tip of her hands pushing the ball off its target once more.

As Lexa yelled encouragement at her team before the shootout, she found blue eyes getting in position half a field away and grimaced at the smirk she received.

Oh, it was on.

Lexa knew of the Comets’ defender. The Ark Comets’ defense had been the pillar to bring the beach city team to the finals. Griffin, McIntyre and Monroe made sure the Comets had the most clean sheets this season, and they would definitely be awarded best defense of the championship. 

But Lexa was the head of the best attack. 

Anya scored once, in the first half, Lexa’s assist. Octavia Blake leveled it out for the Comets thirty minutes later. 

Lexa heard the whistle and knew that now, it didn’t really matter. Penalty shootouts were a mix of training, emotional balance and a bit of luck. She would be the last shooter for the Wolves and hoped Griffin’s strike of good games would suddenly end.

From the middle of the field, Lexa watched the Comets’ defender catch three shots, including Anya’s. The Comets missed their own opportunities, though.

The crowd vibrated with apprehension as Lexa took the ball under her arms, walking the sixty yards that separated the huddled teams from the keepers on the chosen side of the field. Behind the goal, the traditional crimson and silver that covered her home stadium was tainted with the blue and gold from the Comets since Lexa had lost the coin toss when choosing the field goal. The Comets’ captain—who else but the towering Clarke Griffin—picked the side with the small visiting group, making their own party behind the goal. 

Lexa saw the same infuriating smirk as Griffin took position, blue eyes not on the ball as most keepers do, but on Lexa. She gulped dryly; rain suddenly heavy as Clarke, clad in a mudded, sunny-yellow uniform, opened her arms and swallowed the goal with arms that stretched out in an impressive wingspan. 

Damn it. 

The referee whistled loudly in Lexa’s ear. The Comets’ crowd was all she could hear, and they cheered for the wrong name. Rain fell mercilessly, and the Wolves’ captain stilled herself, looking once at the ball, once at the goal and back to the ball. 

Lexa knew it would be a perfect shot when her foot’s instep met the softness of the synthetic leather. She could taste victory in the fraction of a second her shot traveled the small distance between herself and the goal.

Lexa was perfect.

But Clarke... Clarke was magnificent. 

A yellow blur jumped over the cheering, the mud and gravity. The tip of a gloved finger hit the upper corner of the goal as Clarke shoved the ball to the side. In the jump, more will than technique to reach that far that fast, Clarke hit her left shoulder against the post, a dry echo of a shout reaching Lexa’s ear as six feet of grace fell on the ground.

The stadium was silent. For a fleeting moment, Lexa didn’t hear anything but her heart.

The small crowd behind the goal exploded and time ran by the defeated captain as she watched Griffin—insufferable Griffin—stand up with her right hand held high as her teammates promptly jumped on her and tackled her back to the ground.

Lexa hadn’t moved when a hand fell on her shoulder.

“How did she catch that?” Anya’s words were muffled by the Comets’ celebratory cheers. 

“I don’t know.” 

* * *

Gold and blue flew from confetti cannons as opposed to the expected silver and red. Waiting on the field to receive a silver medal left a heavy weight on Lexa’s gut. Second: the bitterest place on the podium. 

Lexa had to wait for the best forward trophy and every second killed her slowly. Griffin obviously won the season’s golden glove and Lexa knew her penalty shot would be replayed every time someone saw her with that glove. 

She shook Griffin’s hand once, her calloused, large palms strangely warm under the persistent, cold rain.

_ Must be the gloves _ , Lexa thought as the rival captain nodded at her. 

The Wolves thanked their fans and rushed to the locker room, accepting the silver medals with small smiles.

“How did she catch that?” Anya was not over the last penalty shot. 

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Lexa sat down in the locker room, a towel finally attempting to clean her face. It succeeded slightly. 

“Have you heard from Tom?” Anya asked as she moved to her personal locker next to Lexa’s. 

“No updates yet, but I think it’s happening.”

Thomas Green, both the athletes’ manager, had been negotiating a big move for Lexa and Anya. Two teams were fighting for the forward and midfielder’s contracts, and the manager was making sure they would go for the highest bid.

Lexa didn’t like to get too involved until they had solid offers.

“We could be wearing gold and blue next season,” Anya teased, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Missing a penalty shootout had that effect.

Lexa grunted and wondered if blue eyes would haunt her for another season.

Their teammates, heads down, went about the post-game routine with little talking. Lexa was unwrapping her swollen right ankle when they heard the noise. From the far wall of the locker room, which connected to the visiting team’s space, loud music echoed, followed by cheers and a thudding bass.

Lexa rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the celebration held at her own expense. 

Someone snickered next to her, and she looked up to find Emori, their left winger, smirking at her phone playing a song suspiciously similar to the one thundering from the Comets’ locker room. 

“What?” Emori looked up from her phone with big brown eyes. “Blake is a friend, and she started a livestream,” the winger defended, apparently done with mourning for their lost title. 

Frowning, Lexa scooted over to check the video despite everything in her not wanting to see any other comet-head celebrating. 

With the tiniest yellow shorts she had ever seen, chest defying the attempt at constraint of a black sports bra, and long golden braid undone to the wildest of manes, Clarke Griffin held the championship trophy and played it as a guitar to her teammates’ cheering.

Magnificent.

“You forgot your chin on the floor, commander,” Emori—ironic and stupidly fast Emori—teased Lexa, and the captain’s frown deepened. 

“Too soon,” Anya said from behind Emori and slapped the back of the younger girl’s head playfully. When Lexa looked up, Anya was smirking too.

“She is hot, though,” Anya added, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Lexa looked down at the phone to watch Clarke lifting Octavia Blake bridal style while Harper, a member of the impeccable defense trio, jumped on Clarke’s back. Clarke winced but didn’t drop her teammates as whoever was making the video tried to jump on the growing human pile. 

Lexa caught the same pair of blue that pursued her the entire game one last time before standing up in search of a hot shower.

* * *

The End of Season Gala was a less expected affair for Lexa when compared to last year. Last year, fresh from her first national league title, Lexa welcomed the red carpet, the champagne, the dances and photos.

Tonight, while her black suit matched the satin, burgundy western bow tie and she turned more than a few heads, Lexa silently sipped her gin, waiting for the night to end.

“Get rid of the long face. Tom just texted and the deal seems secure.” Anya, her college idol and pitch companion, stopped at the bar next to Lexa, parading her dress a tone shy of sangria that showed off her toned legs in two deep cuts. 

“This is a party for the winner,” Lexa complained.

“No Lex, it’s just a party.”

“There’s a Comets’ flag at the entrance.”

“All the flags are at the entrance.” Exasperated, Anya traded Lexa’s half-emptied glass for a full dose, one hand over her friend’s shoulder. “And you should be kinder to the Comets. High chances they will be your new home.”

Lexa sipped her new drink, the sharp scent of whiskey making her grimace before drinking more. 

“Also,” Anya continued, “it’s a party full of hot girls and rich sponsors. Try to have a good time and stop being a sore loser. You missed a shot, I missed a shot. Griffin had an amazing night. It fucking happens.”

Lexa stared at Anya’s light brown eyes, a shade of dark coating them as Anya downed another glass. “Please try to enjoy yourself! Emori just kissed a waiter, and Niylah bet with Nia who would hook up with one of the men’s national team.” 

Lexa smiled for the first time that night. 

“Niylah will win.”

“Of course. Now let’s get going, I hear there’s a shrimp bar somewhere.”

Nodding, Lexa followed Anya through the sea of gowns and ties. If she was looking for someone specific, she didn’t show.

She found her an hour later. Not that Lexa was searching for the tall keeper, not really, she just saw that a commotion was happening for an ‘all goalies of the season’ picture and headed that way out of pure curiosity. Encouraged by her whiskey and a new gin and tonic, she saw those eyes again.

Clarke had a one-shoulder blue dress with a cut that showed most of her endless legs. A bruise peeked from behind the covered shoulder, and for a flash of a moment, between the pictures and the booze, Lexa watched Clarke jump to reach her ball, high and impossible, her right shoulder hitting the post. The painful grunt that followed. 

Clarke carried a mark because of her, and it was strangely satisfying. 

In the sea of tall goalies, Lexa stood a few steps away. She watched the diamond earrings a tight bun exposed, followed the red on lips form a captivating smile and remembered the warmth in large hands that held an entire bottle of champagne. 

“Your chin keeps finding the floor around that girl, cap.” Emori appeared behind Lexa, nursing her own flute of champagne as Lexa pretended she wasn’t watching the Comets’ star. 

“Have you seen those legs?” Alcohol could be blamed for Lexa’s blatant response, but it was probably just those mile-long legs. 

Eyebrows up to her hairline, Emori laughed. “Geez, who hasn’t. They are the reason bitch jumps as high as she does to catch all our shots.” 

“I heard you kissed a waiter.”

Emori smiled into her cup. “It’s a good night for kissing.” She winked at Lexa and turned to walk away, and before Lexa could muster a protest, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Captain Woods.”

Slurred, lower than the tone Lexa remembered. 

Still breathtaking.

“Captain Griffin.” Lexa recovered in time not to stare at Clarke’s legs. Or cleavage. She might have failed at the last one. 

“I’ve heard we might join forces next season,” Clarke said with those eyes fixed on Lexa, one hand still gripping the champagne bottle and the other not letting go of Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa didn’t mind.

“Can’t comment about it.” Words slipped from Lexa’s mouth, and she tried valiantly not to stare at Clarke’s cleavage again. She failed once more. 

“We have been looking for strikers,” Clarke said and took a huge swig straight from her bottle. Lexa watched a drop run down her chin and swallowed hard on absolutely nothing. 

“I’m leaving the Wolves, not sure where to yet.” 

“Shame. You do look good in those red shorts,” Clarke said as she lowered her head to whisper in Lexa’s ear. “You have a cute butt, Woods.”

“It’s crimson,” Lexa replied, cheeks burning.

“But you might look good in blue too.” With a wink as tempting as the one in the game, Clarke walked away; a cold shiver ran down Lexa’s back as the tall blonde left with all her warmth.

Gosh, Lexa was in trouble.

* * *

Lexa should have stopped drinking three shots ago. But as the alcohol went up, her inhibitions went down, and Anya adored seeing her close friend having some fun. 

They did a 'forwards competition' and Lexa finished her shots a good second before Octavia Blake from the Comets, and it was her personal victory. Emori kissed another waiter and got endless supplies of drinks to the Wolves’ corner, and, surprisingly, Nia was the one who captivated the men's team goalie and slipped away to put those gigantic hands to good use.

Niylah, never a sore loser, had disappeared an hour ago with a midfielder from the Northern Bears. Even Anya found her own source of entertainment and vanished after the shots competition with someone Lexa suspected was from the Comets. 

Through it all, she hadn't seen Clarke since her hand left a burning imprint on Lexa's shoulder. 

The night getting to its inevitable end, Lexa searched for fresh air at the hotel lobby balcony, the December chill sobering her up enough to realize that she was drunk. 

Drunk enough to allow her mind to wonder what she would do to kiss a certain bruising shoulder. If she closed her eyes, she could smell Clarke's perfume, a mix of wild flower scent with a tinge of alcohol and the fairest touch of fresh, tempting sweat.

It was only when Lexa opened unfocused eyes that she saw the star of her dreams, hunched over the banister gracelessly, looking up at a starless sky. 

Lexa gulped and let her heels guide her.

"When you winked at me on the pitch, I almost lost it. You're infuriating." Lexa went for her version of drunk smoothness, leaning on the banister that overlooked the hotel garden. Music still blasted from the dying party, and for now, no one invaded their moment.

When Clarke looked at her, Lexa saw red eyes and a hint of smudged make-up, and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"So I've heard," Clarke replied, a small smile on her lips as long fingers brushed a tear away.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Clueless of what to do, Lexa turned and stared at the garden, the dim lights highlighting white flowers. She smelled jasmine and took a deep breath.

"Do you sometimes just miss people and cry over it for a minute and then go back to your life like nothing happened?" Blue eyes never left the garden, the stone statues keeping them company. Lexa focused on the aging stone angel and let her shoulder touch Clarke's uncovered one. Even hunched over, Clarke's back was still an impressive display of muscles, grace and freckled sky.

Lexa wanted to trace constellations on her skin. 

"Yes," she answered honestly.

"What do you do to not just … give up sometimes?" Clear blue eyes stared at the garden, never moving, mapping the flowers, ivy and carved stones.

Lexa closed her eyes and took a deep breath of Clarke. Clarke turned and Lexa could look into the eyes that teased her so many times before, but now had only a layer of tiredness that Lexa knew well.

She had no idea where the deep conversation came from, but she would always take drunken honesty over small talk.

"I keep looking forward." 

Clarke's eyes lingered on hers for a moment, then dropped to her lips, and Lexa watched as a tongue peeked out to wet fading red lipstick. Clarke straightened up to her full height, a good head over Lexa, and it was Lexa's time to hydrate her suddenly dry lips. 

Even on heels, Lexa never felt shorter. It was a comforting feeling of powerlessness. 

Clarke looked down at her lips, her eyes and her lips again. A clear question, invitation. Blonde hairs escaped what used to be a tight bun, and Lexa lost herself to trace nose, cheekbones and eyelashes. 

Warm, always warm hands as Clarke buried them on the mess of brown locks behind Lexa's neck.

Motionless, Lexa watched six feet of magnificence lean down to reach her lips in the kindest of kisses.

As her brain caught up with her heart, Lexa responded to the kiss, ignoring the music, the flowers, the angels and everything else for the taste of champagne and Clarke.

Three days ago, she hated the Comets' keeper. 

Now the memory of Clarke's heroic sports bra on a tiny cell phone screen was all her mind could muster.

Lexa was not number ten without a reason; one arm found a strong waist and the other rested, high, on the sound shoulder. Her fingers dug slightly on pale skin. Clarke opened her mouth, and Lexa met her tongue in the natural course of events. 

Magnificent.

The kiss broke with the same tempo it started. Clarke’s forehead touched Lexa's, eyes closed. A smile painted Lexa's burning lips, and she could hear a similar one in Clarke’s sigh.

"Infuriating, huh?"

"Absolutely," Lexa breathed and caught red lips.

They heard the voice long before Octavia's head could peek out from the balcony door.

"Clarke! Clarke, where are you? We're on our way out!"

Lexa saw blue eyes widening and didn't register what was happening until fingers closed around her disheveled tie and pulled her further from the door to hide behind a tall ivy bush by the emergency exit. 

"Clarke!" Octavia called once more, and Lexa bit her lips not to laugh at Clarke's index finger begging for silence. Drunk, hair poking in all directions and lips bruised from her kiss, Clarke was as beautiful as ever as they pressed against the wall, hiding from the short forward. 

"Dammit, Raven, I can't find her!" Octavia said before rushing back to the loud music.

Clarke waited for another beat before bursting out laughing, and Lexa followed, because why not. One should always laugh when beautiful girls do.

"Am I that ugly that you need to hide me?" Lexa asked when they finally caught some air.

"Please, don't flatter yourself." Clarke used her hips to push open the emergency exit. Lexa followed without a second thought. "She wants me to make sure her drunk brother gets home so she can sleep with that scary midfielder from the men's national team," Clarke explained as they both trailed down a set of stairs that Lexa had no idea where it would end. She suspected neither did Clarke. "I'm in no mood to babysit a drunk."

"I'm drunk," Lexa said, and the door at the end of the stairs opened to garden freshness. Clarke unhooked her heels, and Lexa followed suit; Clarke still towered over her, soaked stockings and all.

"I might open an exception if you play your cards right."

Lexa tugged Clarke’s hand and led her through the garden. The tall goalie swirled until she stopped between Lexa's arms, dim garden lights shining like light bugs in the sea of dark blue.

After a much needed kiss, Lexa offered her jacket.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I still have a button up. And maybe you can help me get warmer." 

It was silly and lame, but Clarke laughed anyway. 

They tried to find their way to the large doors beyond the garden, getting lost between the many cozy spots that just begged for a kiss. Clarke plucked a pansy flower to adorn Lexa's hair, messing with the tight braid. Their feet wet from walking on damp grass, Clarke shivered from under Lexa’s jacket, earning another kiss next to a marble cupid. Clarke’s stocking was torn when walking by the rosebushes, and Lexa’s tie was lost somewhere around the tulips, but neither woman noticed. They reached the glass doors breathlessly. 

Between the slowing flow of guests leaving the hotel, Lexa guided Clarke to a forgotten coatroom. They kissed like teenagers in between cashmere and leather, and Lexa ventured a leg to test how high Clarke’s dress cut could go.

It could go so damn high. 

Clarke breathed hard at the pressure, fingers locking behind Lexa’s nape. The flower in Lexa’s hair got lost on the carpeted floor. As far as Lexa’s 5’5” height could let her, her knee pressured Clarke, and she was rewarded with the most obscene moan of the night.

She wanted more.

Lexa found a sweet spot on the keeper’s neck, sucking mercilessly as Clarke’s moans escalated in the small room. 

“This ok?” Lexa whispered as one hand followed her leg’s trail and toyed with the hem of tight, oh so tight panties.

Clarke dropped her head on Lexa’s shoulder and breathed a yes. Lexa’s left hand stood firmly around Clarke’s waist as she took a deep breath. She was an explorer mapping new territory; every corner, every secret and every whisper she tried to commit to memory.

Clarke’s jaw dropped and stayed there, slacked, failing to stop tiny moans that escaped under Lexa’s rhythm. Lexa mirrored her, mouth open, gasping and sharing the same elaborated breath.

Lexa never got off on eye contact alone but under the flickering light of the coat room and the intensity of Clarke’s dilated pupils, she might. 

Fingers gripped tighter on Lexa’s nape, nails digging in and leaving scarlet crescents on her skin. She pressed harder.

Clarke dropped her forehead on Lexa’s shoulder with a grunt, and Lexa’s forearm burned. A throaty gasp fanned Lexa’s neck.

“I’m gonna—” Clarke breathed in an exasperated whine, trembling, vulnerable. 

The supportive hand around Clarke’s waist pulled her closer, and while she never stopped, Lexa kissed a pulsing temple.

“I got you,” Lexa whispered. Nails unhooked from Lexa’s neck and hands grasped, desperately, at her shoulders. Clarke’s hip picked up pace, speeding up until she finally, beautifully, froze and moaned the cutest obscenities into Lexa’s collarbone, head tucking into her neck and hiding there. 

Lexa kissed every bit of available skin, counting freckles and sighs until the full weight of the professional goalkeeper fell on her chest, surrendered.

For a second, Lexa felt complete.

The coatroom door busted open to Lexa’s ultimate horror, and a girl dressed in the hotel’s colors walked in. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight. 

Lexa recovered first, extracting her hand and stepping in front of Clarke, who blushed furiously from either shame or pleasure. 

“I’m sorry, we’re on our way out,” Lexa excused themselves, one hand firmly in Clarke’s. 

“Oh my God,” the hotel worker said, brown eyes huge as they stared back and forth between the two players. 

“Look,” Lexa said firmly, “there’s no need to—”

“Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods!” the girl exclaimed. 

Clarke mumbled a curse from behind Lexa. 

“You’re Clarke Griffin and you’re Lexa Woods,” the parrot of a girl repeated. “I’m a huge fan! I went all the way up there for the final! I changed so many shifts to work tonight and, and … can I have an autograph?” 

Lexa and Clarke shared a look, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Sure.” Clarke stepped from behind her defense line of jackets and scarfs and accepted the pen the girl fished from a pocket.

“Can this stay between us?” Lexa asked as she signed her name at the back of a coat ticket. Realization dawned on the girl’s face, her cheeks erupting in a dark pink hue. She stared at Lexa, the reddening marks on her neck, the wrong buttons rushed clasped in her shirt, then back at Clarke, bun completely destroyed and smudged lipstick.

“I, I, I mean …”

“I can get you season tickets for the Comets,” Lexa added in her bargain. Being caught with her pants down with a future teammate would hurt her image, not to mention the Comets’; they could even back away from the deal. 

“I already have season tickets,” the girl replied sheepishly. Silence filled the warm room as Lexa thought what else to offer this girl for her silence. “But maybe a picture?” The girl pursed her lips and looked at the floor, her ponytail bouncing. 

“Call this number before the first game.” Lexa handed her Tom Green’s card—she knew it could be useful to have it in her wallet. “We can do an official shooting, with uniforms and everything.”

Brown eyes shined with excitement, and the young woman held the card as if it would break. 

Lexa helped Clarke from behind the coats, walking the short distance to the door. “This is for your trouble,” Lexa placed a fifty in the girl’s hand, right on top of Tom’s card. “We might have broken something.” Before the Comets fan could say anything, Lexa guided Clarke back to the bright light of the hallway until they reached another of the hotel’s lobbies. 

“I think you guys are cute!” the girl called from the coatroom as they walked away. 

Lexa squeezed Clarke’s hand but didn’t look back. 

“Fuck,” Clarke breathed as she made sure her dress—and panties—were in place. Lexa caught her eyes, and they chuckled. 

“That was unexpected,” Lexa quipped.

“That was”—Clarke leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on Lexa’s reddening cheeks—“really good.”

“Yeah?” Lexa lifted a sculpted eyebrow. 

Clarke slowly checked the forward up and down. “Oh yeah.”

“Clarke!” The shout interrupted the unveiled flirting, and both Lexa and Clarke turned to see a clearly inebriated Octavia Blake going down the lobby stairs to meet them. “Woods?” Octavia asked, bleary green eyes unfocused on Lexa. The tall man helping her down the stairs smiled at them.

“Blake.” Lexa nodded, taking one step away from Clarke. Octavia squinted her eyes. “Lincoln,” Lexa greeted her old friend.

“Wait, you know her?” Octavia slurred. 

“Lexa,” Lincoln returned the nod. 

“I lost Reyes,” Octavia whined while changing her support from Lincoln to Clarke. 

“Oh geez,” the keeper exhaled, one hand around her friend. “I’m sure we’ll find her. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow.” Each part was added with Octavia leaning more and more on Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke’s face was apologetic enough for Lexa not to dare and invite Clarke to go back with her to her hotel downtown. She almost did, anyway. 

“See you later,” Lexa mouthed to the girl who only moments ago was in her arms. Clarke nodded and was pulled to the front door along with Octavia, Lincoln and more voices as other players started pouring down the lobby.

Lexa caught a last glimpse of sparkling blue and sat down on the stairs to write Tom Green an email about pictures on the first game.

Through the glass door, she watched Clarke climb into a taxi, laughing at something Octavia said. 

The gala wasn’t so bad after all.

* * *

Three days later, Lexa and Anya signed their contracts with the Comets.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for the feedback! So apparently we’re doing this…  
> I’m writing other stories that are so dramatic and heavy that this is my go-to story when I need a little pick-me-up. Enjoy!   
> thanks to @jkerr and her amazing work as beta

The first thing that greeted Lexa in Ark City was Clarke Griffin’s smile. 

The billboard congratulating last season’s champions was the first time Lexa had seen the keeper in weeks. Welcoming Lexa was a witty smile and exuberant confidence, as Clarke held a golden ball on the giant  _ ‘Welcome to Ark City, home of the champions Comets!’ _ billboard. Lexa ignored Harper and Octavia shadowing the tall keeper and smiled to herself. 

She wondered if soon it would be her face on the Comets’ billboard since her first official appointment at the Comets’ training center was a photoshoot. 

Lexa was never a big fan of the cameras, and it was the only reason why she was nervous when she showed up for the photoshoot the following day. The fact that it would be the first time she would see Clarke after their impromptu coat room encounter a month ago had nothing to do with her nerves—absolutely not. A lot of things could have happened after the holiday season. Maybe the keeper even forgot about Lexa.

Lexa surely had not forgotten her. Some lonely nights, when Lexa indulged in thoughts of Clarke, she would feel the ghost touch of nails marking her neck and a muffled moan on her collarbone as if she were in that coatroom again.

Lexa had the impression it would take more than a month to forget that.

Anya had long ago given up on trying to grill Lexa about the gala night, but her best friend could feel Lexa’s unease as they got to the training center, a five-story building at the far end of the beach, somewhat secluded from the main avenue. 

“What’s up with you?” Anya asked as they headed to the saloon in the training center that had been converted into a photo studio. 

“What do you mean?” Lexa pulled at the collar of her new navy blue shirt. Number ten shone in gold at her back. After Pelé, the number ten carried the significance of a mantle for the best player in the team, with few exceptions. Lexa didn’t have to ask for it in the Comets; it was waiting for her. Lexa hadn’t seen Octavia Blake since the gala, but she was sure the striker was not happy with being outranked to number thirteen—since Anya snagged jersey eleven and Ontari, Clarke’s sub, was a classic keeper twelve.

“We joined one of the best teams in the country, and you look like you want to puke.” 

Lexa frowned at her friend, but couldn’t say much else as they joined the other players around the makeup stations behind the cameras. Everything happened in a blur for Lexa, and she couldn’t really have a decent conversation with her new teammates in between makeup and hair stylists—even if most of them ended up in ponytails or braids. 

Truthfully, Lexa was not a big fan of the camera. 

“Imagine you just scored the championship penalty!” The photographer tried for the umpteenth time to make Lexa smile, but the laughter that came from behind the camera was Octavia’s as last season’s finale was the exact opposite of what would make Lexa smile.

Anya, also behind the cameras, smirked as Lexa stared daggers at the innocent photographer. 

“Darling, I’ll need at least one smile,” the middle-aged photographer sighed as he looked down at his digital camera. Being the big new shot of the season, the Comets needed good photos of Lexa for marketing. 

“Imagine you… Yes! That! Keep doing that!” Before Lexa could react any other way, flashes erupted around her, and the photographer and his staff released a collected sigh of relief.

Not that it mattered to Lexa, because behind the wilderness of players, stylists and soccer balls, Lexa caught sight of a familiar yellow and a smile sneaked up her face. 

“You had it in you, after all!” 

Lexa came back to herself at the photographer’s praise, golden ball in her hands. He gestured to her to step out of the green background for the next player to pose. 

The next player was no one else but Clarke Griffin herself in all her sunny yellow uniform glory, six feet of graciousness, golden mane tamed in intricate braids. 

Lexa, a smile still plastered on her face, promptly tripped on one of the lights.

Large hands gripped her forearm, making sure she didn’t embarrass herself face-first on the floor. 

“You okay?” Clarke, brows furrowed, asked, hands firm around Lexa’s arm. 

“Yeah,” Lexa breathed out, eyes wide and fixed in concerned blue. “I’m good.”

“Clarke darling, we still have five girls left,” the photographer called out, unimpressed by Lexa almost kicking down his equipment. “Let’s get this going since I know you’re the perfect model.”

“See you,” Clarke said softly before letting an assistant help her position herself in front of the camera. 

The spot in Lexa’s arm, in the absence of Clarke’s fingers, was suddenly cold.

From the side of the room, Anya observed the scene with curious eyes.

* * *

It was not flirting. 

Not in the way Lexa was used to, at least. 

During practice, she would look at Clarke, appraise her form, admire while she stretched. Blue eyes would do the same, unabashedly, and Lexa preened at the silent praise. When the goalies detached from the main group after warm-up for their specialized training, Lexa was left deprived of the tight shorts Clarke liked to partake in; their forearms would touch, linger for a second beyond politeness, and they would depart with Lexa’s fingers touching the warmest of palms. 

So maybe a little flirting was going on in the Comets’ preseason training. 

But there was nothing that could deviate Lexa from her main objective: to win another championship.

Rain fell heavily, weighing down the long-sleeved training jersey on Lexa’s body. Sweat evaporated in vanishing fogs around her skin at the cold touch of rain. Beyond the wall and fields that surround the pitch, Lexa heard the anger of the sea, waves crashing on the rocks and fighting for more space on the beach. She took a deep breath, blinking away the fat raindrops caught on her eyelashes.

She repositioned the ball, the dummy barrier shaking under the rain and wind. The air smelled like the earth; there was mud all over Lexa’s uniform and face. It had been well beyond an hour that training was over, but Lexa had stayed to practice free kicks.

The percentage of free kick goals had been dropping in the league, but Lexa believed it was because the players did not want to pay the price anymore.

And the price Lexa was paying, staying for hours on end to perfect the way the ball traveled around the barrier in a beautiful curve to dive inside the net.

“It’s easy without a goalie.”

Lexa felt her soul leave her body for a millisecond. She had been alone in the pitch for more than an hour, and a sudden voice so close to her under the rain made her heart jump to her throat.

“Easy,” Clarke laughed, equally wet and dirty, one hand on Lexa’s shoulder.

How could it still,  _ still _ be warm?

“I didn’t know anyone else was still around.” Lexa wiped the water from her eyebrows.

“I’m also a fan of staying late,” Clarke offered as explanation. “Why don’t you try that again?” Without saying anything else, the keeper jogged to the goal, kicked some of the balls Lexa had already shot there to give her more space and clapped her hands, showing Lexa she was ready.

Lexa squinted her eyes, taking it as the challenge that it was.

Lexa’s shots were short of perfect; but Clarke, Clarke seemed to thrive in hard conditions. She would jump to catch the ball when Lexa inverted the side; she would throw herself on the ground to slide all the way to prevent the ball from finding the net; she would invert her hands, hitting a height almost impossible for any other keeper in the league to throw Lexa’s ball against the post.

It irritated Lexa to no end.

Around her sixth attempt, Lexa finally scored, a ball too fast and precise for Clarke to reach in time. She scored another six out of ten more attempts before calling it a day. 

Rain picked up and the wind started to interfere with the ball’s trajectory. Thunder clashed from above, and to keep training could be dangerous. 

“I would’ve gotten that last one if it wasn’t for my shoulder,” Clarke complained as they reached the locker room, cleats clicking against concrete, rain dripping from wet braids. 

Lexa met Clarke’s eyes. Her left cheek had a smudge from one of the times the keeper threw herself on the ground to cradle the ball against her chest. Her golden locks were darker and wet, some rebel strands sticking to her forehead. Finally, the blue of her eyes was intense amidst the paleness of her face, lips a dark shade of purple from the growing cold. 

As Lexa felt herself getting lost in those eyes, eyes that approached her face when Clarke took a step closer, Lexa realized that yes, this could indeed be  _ dangerous _ . 

“I keep thinking about that night.” Clarke’s voice was a warm puff of air against Lexa’s cold face. “About you.”

Biting her lips, Lexa looked down, not able to concentrate with those eyes locked on her. “We work together now.”

“Oh, is that why you’re around here?” Clarke joked, her lips rising halfway. The locker room was quiet, the door locked. The air was still heavy with steam from the showers their teammates had taken after practice, but besides that, it appeared they were alone. 

“Clarke,” Lexa exhaled, taking a step back further inside the room as Clarke advanced, tall and secure, and Lexa felt so, so small. The best kind of vulnerable. 

“Do you?”

“What?” A crinkle formed between Lexa’s green eyes.

A full smile graced the taller woman’s features. “Do you think of me?”

Lexa was an offensive player, a striker. She was used to attacking, to disarming, to taking the initiative. 

Being cornered by a player that was supposed to be the epitome of defense was disconcerting. But, for whatever reason, Lexa felt a deep satisfaction in not having control around Clarke.

She swallowed, lifting her chin up to meet Clarke head-on. On her tiptoes, Lexa leaned closer, full lips grazing Clarke’s jaw. “All the time.” Before Clarke could capture her in a kiss, Lexa pulled back. “But we do work together now. And we need to be careful,” she explained, sneaking away from under Clarke’s arm to walk to her personal locker. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Clarke insisted, one hand wiping hair and mud from her face. 

Lexa kicked her cleats off, toeing off her wet socks with it. She focused on her locker to get her change of clothes and toiletries as she spoke, “Is this just about sex?”

“I’m not opposed to the idea of sex.” Clarke rested her shoulder on the locker next to Lexa, watching her. 

“How many girls of this team have you slept with?” Lexa righted her spine, shower caddy in one hand and a duffel with towel and clothes in the other. One eyebrow poised, she smirked up at Clarke.

Clarke frowned. “Not as many as you think.”

“Are any of them still on the team?”

Clarke opened her mouth, then closed, her furrow deepening. 

“That’s what I thought. These things don’t end well, Clarke.” She turned her back to the keeper, walking in the direction of the showers. “Especially when we think we can keep it casual.”

“I can keep it casual,” Clarke insisted following Lexa to the shower rows. 

“It’s hard to keep things casual when you see the person every day.” Without any more words, Lexa closed the stall to one of the showers, leaving Clarke on the other side.

“That doesn’t mean I will stop thinking of you,” Clarke said, and Lexa turned the shower on. 

“Never asked you to stop.” Lexa’s voice came muffled by the sound of water hitting skin. 

Clarke laughed quietly, and Lexa heard her cleats clicking away.

In the shower, Lexa changed the setting to cold.

* * *

“It’s a great morning here at Space Arena, home to the Ark City’s Comets! I’m Kleber Sanchez and with me to comment on the opening game for the Comets preseason is Carla Summers.”

“Good morning, Kleber, how are you doing? I missed you, and I missed you guys for the break after the Comets championship!”

“Oh yeah, fresh out the oven champions! Do you think they come strong for another season? We see some new faces down there.”

“Yes, yes, today is the debut of Lexa Woods and Anya Forrest wearing the Comets’ colors.”

“Carla, I honestly think most people came here today to watch exactly that, the MVP making her first appearance as a Comet-head.”

“Not only that, Kleber, I’m sure they missed us too! But yes, it’s the Ark City Cup and we have six teams competing for our city’s preseason trophy. Two teams from France, one from Brazil and three American teams fight for their place under the sun.”

“And what are the expectations for the game?”

“The Brazilian team came strong, but I’m risking to bet the Comets can take them. They have the strongest defense in the season, led by captain Clarke Griffin, and the trio of defenders that will stop whatever the Brazilians have for them.”

“And on the offense?”

“Octavia Blake looks eager to score her first goal of the season, and we know Anya Forrest is a well-known assist player. And Lexa, well, Lexa doesn’t really need anything else, just give her the ball and watch the magic happen.”

“That is amazing, so let’s check the final line up!”

* * *

“Carla, what do you think happened today?”

“Lack of harmony, of course. Apparently, the Comets enjoyed their break a little bit too much.”

“And Griffin’s outburst for a preseason game?”

“We all know Clarke Griffin is hot on the pitch, Kleber, we know she expresses her feelings quite vigorously. And let’s be honest, that was an easy ball she let pass, and it’s understandable she got frustrated.”

“She threw one glove at Harper’s face, Carla.”

“Which could be seen as team bonding, as they left for the locker room in a hug. Harper missed the ball and left Clarke to defend the goal by herself, and Andressinha, a high-level player for the Brazilians, did not miss her chance.”

“And Lexa also missed a perfect ball Octavia passed her in the second half.”

“Oh wow, Kleber, for that ball to be better it needed to have sprinkles on it. It was a perfect pass and Woods missed it, which is not common for the former Wolves player.”

“Indeed, Carla, indeed. The Comets did not have a good start to their season.”

“They need to get their heads back in the game because preseason will be over soon, and the real challenge will begin.”

“That’s true! Thank you for joining us this morning, folks, and have a great weekend!”

* * *

Lexa did not like losing. 

Since she was a little girl and soccer was starting to take the spotlight in her life, Lexa loathed losing a match.

And losing the first game in a new team after being hired as the trade of the year?

No. Lexa despised losing, and no amount of afterparty glow and glitter could shake off the intensity which Indra yelled at them in the locker room.

“It was just one game,” Anya mumbled, holding two cups of that sickly sweet and sour Brazilian drink—of course Clarke would suggest fraternizing with the  _ enemy _ . The French teams were here too, one of them fresh out of victory against the Northern Bears—which made Lexa smile since the Wolves and Bears had a long-lasting rivalry. 

“It’s preseason, we’re getting our gears going. We all need time. Plus, it was just a one zero, Lexa. Chill.” Anya placed the cup in Lexa’s hand, in no mood for arguing. With a last push to Lexa’s shoulder, she went back inside the house. Lexa turned her attention to the sea, watching from the deck that ended on the soft sands of Ark City’s beach.

Lexa had chosen the backyard of the large beach house to hide from the party. She had never been a huge fan of afterparties—the game was so fresh in her mind that she usually used that time to go over mistakes and opportunities she had missed. But when Clarke had suggested in the team’s group chat that they all should go to the house the Brazilians rented for some deserved break and team bonding, most of them had said yes.

Lexa obviously wanted to say no, but Anya could be dangerously persuasive. 

So here she was, nursing a second drink, mourning her lost goal, and watching half of her team giving a new meaning to fraternizing, with the male teams that were in town for similar preseason matches. 

“I would tease you if your pout wasn’t so endearing.”

Lexa jumped at the voice behind her ear, dropping half the drink into her plaid shirt, cursing under her breath.

“How are you so sneaky?” She grumbled with a scowl, brushing off the soiled spot on her shirt.

“I’m not. You get too much into your head sometimes,” Clarke replied with a smile, her back against the pillar Lexa had been leaning on. “It was just the first game. We will get better.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Lexa finally gave up on cleaning her shirt and looked at Clarke. 

Her hair was free from her usual braids, falling messily over her shoulders in a cascade of pale gold. She had a light layer of makeup, lipstick smudged on the plastic cup she held. Lexa wondered if she had low heels because her neck muscle burned as she looked up to catch Clarke’s eyes. She tried to take a step back and almost tripped, realizing she had been one step down the backyard deck, and that was why Clarke was towering over her more than usual. Strong and, as always, warm hands caught her by the waist, holding her in place. Lexa’s drink didn’t make it this time, falling silently on the sand.

“You’re really clumsy for a professional player,” Clarke said in a smile, their bodies flush.

Lexa recovered, turning to climb down the few steps to the sand. Clarke followed.

“I know losing bothered you too.” Lexa decided to ignore the jab on her alleged clumsiness; she wasn’t  _ clumsy _ , it was just that Clarke had this tendency of throwing her off her game. “Everyone saw how you reacted.”

“Heat of the game.” Clarke shrugged it off, walking alongside Lexa. 

In companionable silence, she could hear the waves, their insistent clash on the rocks. It was such a change from the quietness of the mountains.

Lexa liked it.

“You also get into your head sometimes,” Lexa commented after a few minutes, the music from the party muting as they walked farther from the house. 

Clarke didn’t reply but smiled at Lexa. Lexa wondered if she remembered when Lexa found her at the gala. 

“I guess I do.” Clarke walked a little ahead of Lexa and turned to be in front of her, walking backwards. “So, I’ve been thinking,” she started, fidgeting with her leather jacket. The wind picked up and played with the loose strands of her hair, framing her face in wisping golden threads. The moon was high and bright, but her eyes were too dark for Lexa to read them. “About what you said in the locker room the other day.”

“I’m not having a fling with a teammate, Griffin,” Lexa cut her off but couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“Hear me out,” Clarke argued, hands up in surrender. “I think it could work just fine.”

“There’s literally an entire house full of soccer players, and you still want to sleep with me?” Lexa stopped in her tracks and so did Clarke. Crossing her arms, Lexa raised an eyebrow to confront the tall player.

“Oh, believe me, I thought about that too. I actually got a French girl’s number.”

“That is not helping your case.”

“What I mean,” Clarke prolonged the last syllable, hands falling on Lexa’s elbows and coaxing her to uncross her arms. Slowly, Lexa let Clarke take both of her hands. Lexa’s hands were cold but warming up in between Clarke’s little space heaters of fingers. “Is that I understand you being cautious with this. It’s very professional.” Clarke licked her lips and finally met Lexa’s eyes again. “So why don't we go on a date or something.”

Lexa squinted her eyes at Clarke, watching the tall, usually graceful goalie squirm. That was not the Clarke she met on the pitch on opposite sides of the field, or the drunken, surprisingly thoughtful woman she made come in a hotel closet. This, this show of vulnerability, this was new. 

Another change Lexa might like.

“The night of the gala, I really wanted to take you back to my hotel,” Lexa confessed, taking a small step closer to bask in the warmth radiating from the keeper. 

“Believe me, so did I. I’ve never wanted to abandon my friends that much.” Clarke chuckled. 

“Don’t we need to tell HR about this?”

Clarke grimaced, hissing softly. “Only if things get serious, but we’re not there yet.”

“This cannot affect my training.”

“You’re a striker, I train with goalies. We are basically two different teams.”

“Others cannot know. Especially Anya.”

“I’m honestly scared of being on Forrest’s blacklist.”

“I wonder how much you can get away with that sweet tongue of yours.”

“Wanna find out?”

Lexa was swept in a warm embrace, hands sneaking their way around her waist and hoisting her up for her lips to be captured by the scent of cherry lipstick and lime.

“What about that French girl’s number?” Lexa teased, pulling away to take a much-needed breath.

“I lied. She didn’t give me her number.” 

Lexa slapped her shoulder playfully, and Clarke flinched away. “She did want to go back to my apartment, though. But I’d rather take my chances on the brooding girl pouting at the back deck.”

“It was a good bet, I guess.”

They met for another kiss, this time deeper, confident. One of Lexa’s hands went over to Clarke’s head, tangling in the wild curls that smelled like the sea. 

“My place?” Clarke whispered into an arching neck, leaving an open mouth kiss under Lexa’s jaw that made the striker gasp. 

“As long as there’s no French girl in there.”

“What, do you want it?”

“Keep saying that, and there will be no girl there at all.”

And that’s how Lexa found herself with her back to Clarke’s front door, being pressed against it as soon as they entered the apartment.

Clarke lived in a building dangerously close to where she and Anya rented their condos. Lexa, in any other situation, would have stopped and taken in the apartment that was so intrinsically Clarke—photos of friends, trophies, golden gloves, posters, trinkets from trips, and so much more that gave away little secrets from Clarke’s life.

But right now, Lexa was too focused on the tongue pushing and pulling inside her mouth, the hands hoisting her up against the door in an impressive show of strength and the tight abs that rubbed just right to her front. Her legs were around Clarke’s waist, her body an anchor to keep Lexa in reality as the goalie ravished her mouth. 

“I missed this,” Clarke said as she nuzzled Lexa’s nose with her own in one of their few breaks for air.

“We barely did this. How can you miss it?” Lexa bit Clarke’s ear lobe, the tall keeper groaning in her neck. 

“I think I’ve thought about it so much it feels like we’ve done more.”

“And what do you do when you think of me?” Lexa nipped Clarke’s ear and slipped back on her feet, raising on her tiptoes to kiss Clarke’s jaw. 

“Things that I hope to do to you tonight.” Clarke’s eyes were bright under her living room lights. 

“Show me then.” Lexa bit her lower lip and chuckled when Clarke groaned and leaned down for another deep kiss.

Their walk, or more like tumble, to the bedroom included Lexa’s shirt ending on the couch, their shoes somewhere in the hallway, and Clarke’s lonely succulent losing its fight against gravity when Clarke perched Lexa for another breathtaking kiss on the side table next to the couch. Lexa startled at the noise, but Clarke kissed her apology away with a whispered, “Don’t worry, I have a black thumb anyway.”

Lexa didn’t plan this. She honestly didn’t envision her night going anywhere where she would be watching Clarke—clad in a black bra and nothing else—closing her teeth on Lexa’s underwear and peeling it off her heated skin. Lexa wiggled to help, a sudden shiver running through her body at the air brushing her warm, wet center. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Clarke breathed against Lexa’s thigh, one hand under Lexa’s backside and the other pushing her further down her bed. 

Lexa’s head hit the pillow when she felt Clarke’s phrase on her skin, her mouth trailing kisses up her leg, her stomach, reaching her bra and biting through it. 

“Off,” Clarke demanded, voice low. Her tongue continued to work on a peaked nipple, through the dampening cloth. 

Lexa reached behind herself so fast that Clarke leaned away from her. Just as quickly, Lexa’s bra hit the floor, and she looked down at Clarke with wide eyes.

“I’m usually smoother than this.” Lexa’s cheeks burned.

“I remember.” Clarke held her own weight on her flexed arms and reached down to kiss Lexa soundly. 

The kiss calmed Lexa, a wave of tranquility since they entered Clarke’s apartment. Lexa let herself be kissed, let herself be immersed in the strong presence of Clarke. She felt Clarke’s chest against her, Clarke’s bare chest, and registered she missed the moment the keeper was fully naked. Lexa can pinpoint every spot Clarke touched her: the hard nipples grazing her chest, a firm thigh between her legs, pressing, pushing, eliciting a moan that had Lexa throwing her head back, dark curls all over the pillow. 

Clarke’s hips picked up the pace, moving in tandem with Lexa’s sighs and moans, mouthing the sensitive skin of Lexa’s neck. 

“I wanna taste you. That okay?” Clarke whispered, voice rough. Lexa nodded, moaned a  _ yes _ , and closed her eyes in surrender.

By the time Clarke reached between her legs, Lexa had one hand deep in Clarke’s hair and the other gripping the sheets in a vice-like grip. 

It wouldn’t take long, and Lexa was not the least worried about that. Without the hurry and pressure of being in a coat room, Lexa knew they could do this again. 

“Yes,” she moaned when Clarke found a secret spot, hand and tongue working in earnest. One finger brushed her entrance and Lexa thrust her hips to meet it. That was a whole new level to why Clarke was the rightful winner of so many golden gloves.

“I want to hear you coming.” 

Clarke’s voice was loud enough to pierce the growing fog in Lexa’s mind. She bit her lip, the hand on Clarke’s hair tugging until she heard a hiss. 

She looked down to find dilated pupils and a smirk, Clarke’s cheeks red and sweaty under the dimmed light of the room. 

“Don’t stop,” Lexa growled, legs attempting to close around Clarke, but an elbow kept them open and inviting. 

“Will you come for me?”

Lexa tugged the hair between her fingers a little harder. “Don’t stop and you’ll find out.”

At Clarke’s large smile, Lexa knew she got what she wanted.

With Clarke’s attention back where Lexa needed it the most, she let the tension go, pushing Clarke’s hair away from her face in a soothing gesture. It didn’t take long for the tension to crawl back up again, flexing her abs and thighs and threatening to make her back bow.

Her moans escalated along with the delicious pressure, fingers locked on hair and sheets.

Lexa didn’t want to moan Clarke’s name and give her that satisfaction, but she honestly never had a chance not to do whatever Clarke asked her to the moment that tongue had touched her.

The bed creaked under Clarke’s thrusts, her arm and hips picking up pace. Lexa’s elaborated breaths filled the room, and Clarke moaned on her sensitive skin. The feeling of Clarke rubbing herself on her bed, of knowing she was enjoying this too, was the last push Lexa needed to let the growing tension mount; it tensed her toes, her legs, her gripping arms, her arching back until it culminated with her center heating up close to hypersensitivity, but good, so good, until it overflowed in little tremors.

The smirk against Lexa’s inner thigh showed; she might have lost the battle against calling Clarke’s name. Different from the one this morning, this loss didn’t feel bad at all.

She was catching her breath when Clarke climbed her body once more, slowly leaning for a kiss. Lexa nodded, giving the permission, and Clarke caught her in another deep, open-mouthed kiss. 

“You okay?” Clarke lay next to Lexa, one hand trying to get her hair out of her face; she succeeded slightly. 

“I’m  _ very  _ okay,” Lexa breathed, her heart still struggling to get back to normal. One long, pale leg covered Lexa’s hips, followed by a kiss on her shoulder. 

“Are you okay with a strap-on?” Clarke asked in a quiet voice. Lexa turned to meet her curious eyes, her pupils as dilated as when she was still between Lexa’s legs.

“Wearing them or…” Lexa had a feeling she knew what Clarke was asking, but she had to confirm. 

“Or,” Clarke replied, the red on her cheeks overflowing to her collarbones and chest. 

Lexa bit her lip, sliding closer to Clarke for another kiss. 

“I’m okay with that.”

The smile that crossed Clarke’s face was nothing short of a megawatt, arousal and joy mixed together as she jumped off the bed to her closet. 

Laughing, Lexa took a deep breath, her head resting on the pillow. 

She hadn’t planned her night ending like this but, as Clarke walked back from the closet sporting a harness and holding a dark blue dildo between those warm hands, Lexa was sure things turned out better than any planning she could have done.

* * *

“Oh my God, Carla did you see that!”

“With my own eyes, Kleber! It’s not every day we witness a play like that.”

“I don’t know what happened with the Comets from the last game to this one, but the team is starting to find their footing again!”

“And that goal from Lexa, wow, it’s a painting, incredible. An assist from the keeper, Clarke Griffin herself, seeing Lexa in position for the counter-attack and kicking the ball just right!”

“Lexa took position, and then, it was just her and the French team’s keeper, and we know that Lexa Woods does not forgive! One precise, deadly shot to the corner and it’s a goal!”

“Whatever Lexa did between the first game and this one, she better keep doing it, because it’s working!”

“Yes, Carla, I guess all comet-heads in Ark City agree with you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comet-heads. It’s scientifically proven that getting plowed by Clarke Griffin gives you soccer talents. Science.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I'll keep adding to this. Let me know what you guys think!


End file.
